The Heart's Kingdom

"It hurts. It hurts!" he sobbed.

"Hush, you mustn't cry!" commanded Martha, and there was a little

bitter emphasis on the "you" that cut me, I didn't exactly know why.

And immediately the curled mouth was set in a firm line and the long

lashes winked back tears.

"The beast will not leave go at all," was Jacob's verdict as after a

careful twisting and turning of the ugly turtle he rose to his feet.

"And they do say to kill it lets a venom into the place it is holt of. I

dunno what to do." And in his uncertainty Jacob's eyes sought my face

while at the same instant Martha lifted her wistful eyes to mine. It was

the instinctive turning of the masses to the domination of my class in

the time of need of leadership.

"You git it, lady," suddenly demanded the kiddie, and in his voice and

glance there was none of the deferring to a superior force that I felt

in the others but a decided command of that force. And as he spoke he

stretched out an imperious hand that caught and clung to mine. "Git down

and git it," he again commanded.

"Have you any ammonia, Martha?" I asked, my wits responding gallantly to

the sudden demand upon their biological knowledge.

"I've some in the chist behind the bar. Times I uses it strong on heavy

drunks," responded Jacob and he went quickly into the bar and returned

with the bottle. "It's customers in the grocery and customers at the bar

that I'm keeping waiting fooling along with the brat and the varmint,"

he grumbled.

"I can manage the turtle and you can go and attend to the customers," I

answered, thus assuming calmly the command of the craft of the Last

Chance. Jacob immediately took me at my word and disappeared into the

bar.

"Let's take him and lay him on the bed so we can muffle the turtle in a

towel while we use the ammonia," I said to Martha.

"Yes," answered Martha, "that will be best. Let mother carry you,

sonny!" and Martha bent as if to lift him in her arms.

"I kin hop," the young sufferer announced. "I'm too big to carry, I am,"

he added with proud consideration in his glance at Martha's frailness.

"I'll carry you and mother can carry the turtle," I answered, and to

prevent further delay I lifted him in my strong arms while Martha took

the turtle in her hands, protected by the gingham apron that she wore.

The black head wilted against my breast and the serious young violet

eyes were raised to mine in frightened confidence.

"It's a mighty big turkle," he faltered and snuggled closer.

"We'll get him," I reassured, as I laid him on a bed in a room that

opened, as did the bar, out on the tiny yard.